Mr Maravallo's Marvelous Dreamscape
by tomification
Summary: When Frankie awakens in a strange landscape, she has only the strange, and supposedly marvellous Mr Maravallo as a guide. However as she delves deeper into this world, it becomes clear he is not all he seems. There is something wrong in the Dreamscape, something very wrong indeed.
1. Arrival

Foster's Fanfiction

Firstly, some context, I have wanted to publish this for months, but I decided against it due to Mortal Coil still being in the works. I have decided anyway to wing it and just publish this anyway. This is very experimental for me, and it's quite different to anything else I have published. I tend to have feasible plots that could happen, this could never happen though, at least in my opinion. Before you read you need to know that there is nothing supernatural about this fic, at times it may seem like there is, but there is nothing ghostly or even slightly paranormal about this story. I can't guarantee it's going to be everyone's cup of tea; however it's something I've wanted to do for a while. One thing I want to make clear, there is an OC introduced here, and I have read enough bad fics to know when it sounds like the OC is going to steal the heart of a canon character, THAT WILL NOT HAPPEN HERE. There is a reason for a lot of things in this fic, and there is a reason for Frankie's tendency to trust and like the OC, and it's not romantic. On an unrelated note, there's a reference to my favourite Video-game of all time in here, if anyone gets the game and reference I will come up with a cool sounding title for them.

So without further ado, take my hand, and let's enter the dreamscape.

Mr Maravallo's Marvellous Dreamscape

Figmentology was, in its broadest terms the study of imaginary friends and imagination. It was pioneered by two scientists who found Coco on a desert island. Frankie was only very small when all this happened, however as she grew so did the practise of figmentology, until it was officially recognised as a science. So when it was added to the available courses at various universities, Frankie knew what she was going to study. Getting onto the course was no problem, she had lived her entire life in a house populated by imaginary friends, she was a figmentologist's dream.

However just because you could study it at university it doesn't mean that it isn't ridiculed, the term, 'mickey mouse degree' had been tossed about very frequently where her studies were concerned. And Frankie even started to feel inadequate, it was understandable really. She would be handing in a paper entitled, '_The effects of Traumatic Experience on the Composition of Imaginary Friends in Terms of corporeality and stability'. _Even though she was really chuffed with herself for finishing such a difficult topic, she would see the ones written up by biology or chemistry students. '_The effects of penicillin on the enzyme responsible for synthesising peptidoglycan in the cell walls of prokaryotic microorganisms' _was just one example.

But Frankie worked hard, and she came out with a top-notch degree, she was officially a figmentologist, she could go onto field work, figment composition studies, figment counselling, she could do anything. However Frankie decided to stay right at Foster's, the puppy-eyes of her grandmother, and the unconvincing lies of Mr Herriman that the house doesn't need her sealed that fate. They tried to convince her to go and make something of herself, to be renowned, and Frankie was tempted by the thought. _'Frankie Foster was a pioneering figmentologist who made amazing leaps in the field', _that thought was appealing, she could imagine it being taught in universities across the globe.

But, at her bare bones, it wasn't in Frankie's nature to be selfish. She was happy at Foster's, and she could allow herself a private smugness at the fact that she had a stellar-quality science degree. But, taking all of this into consideration, her years of hard work and study, her sharp mind, her intelligence. None of this could go even half-way to describing the situation she had found herself in.

Frankie was sat atop a cloud, not just a white object, not just a fluffy object, but an actual, proper cloud. Frankie would be lying if she said she hadn't ever wondered what a cloud felt like, but she would never have guessed it was like this. The feeling was like, a marshmallow, she knew what clouds were and they most certainly weren't marshmallows. She wasn't on one solitary cloud either; the entire landscape was made out of the white pseudo-campfire treats.

This wasn't a flat ground; it incorporated huge mountain rangers in the distance. Sweeping calderas adorned the bleached panorama, its consistent blankness was further emphasised by its enormous scale. Behind her was the only defining feature in the oppressive blankness, a large cylinder of thin brass bars all of which spaced out, Frankie could get her hand through the gaps but not her body. The circular cage contained a disc on the floor…or cloud. It was made of the same metal as the bars than housed it, and there was a slit down the middle, it looked like the two halves of the circle could part. There were hinges and a lock on one section of the bars, so it was clear someone could get in or out.

Frankie had been here for a day, when she had first woken up she had pinched her own arm frantically in an effort to wake herself up from what she justifiably through to be a dream. Needless to say her flesh-squeezing endeavour was less than fruitful. She at first became angry, she had screamed at the top of her lungs, the cry of anguish simply slipped over the bleached mountains and dissipated into nothingness. She had then got scared, she had tried to punch and claw her way through the cloud layer, however any headway she made was cancelled out by the fact that more marshmallow would simply take the place of that she managed to clear. Eventually apathy set in, and as fear eroded, simply irritation took its place, she was bored, her throat was sore, and through all of her exertion she didn't smell that great either.

And so when she finally sat down, and did her best to relax, Frankie found it surprisingly easy to do so. Maybe it was the admittedly comfortable clouds, maybe it was the gorgeous blue sky, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time in years she had managed to get some silence. Whatever it was, Frankie was almost sad that she hadn't simply tried chilling out before.

She finally heard a noise, that wasn't the sound of far off wind; it was a beep, and unmistakable and robotic sounding beep. She wheeled around to confront the noise's source, well she couldn't really wheel around since she was standing on a gloopy white clump, but the general effect was the same. The bronze disc was parting; both halves slid and disappeared into two rival slots, so that now there was simply a dark pit where the circle once was.

Frankie suddenly felt very unnerved, she was pretty sure she was about to come face to face with whomever, or whatever brought her here. True to her belief, she could hear something coming up the chute, it was fairly quick, and she heard no signs of it stopping. What was to come out of that damn pit, a multi-tentacled super-beast, a highly intelligent ostrich with thirteen mouths? What Frankie had not expected was for a man in a shabby looking black suit and white tie to emerge on a platform, and that is exactly what happened. He had messy, thick grey hair, as well as a silver, short and scraggly beard. To put it bluntly, he was not the unfathomable being of horror Frankie had expected.

"Hello," he greeted cheerfully, he was well spoken, and had an English accent like Herriman, however he was less aristocratic in the way he talked, articulate yet not off-puttingly so. He took a key out from the inside of his suit jacket and opened the gate, and moved towards her. Frankie instinctively stepped back, she had no reason to trust this man, but all bets were off considering she was standing on a landscape of cloud. He stood in front of her and held his hand out to nowhere in particular, it looked as if he was signalling some unseen person to hand him something. White vapour gathered around his hand, and suddenly it grouped and materialised into… a clipboard. Not a golden dagger, not a miniature dragon, not a magic wand, not Excalibur, no nothing interesting, simply a clipboard.

"Frances Foster?" He enquired, before checking off something with a pen he had summoned in a similar fashion to the object he was currently writing on.

"Allow me to introduce myself-"

"Don't you think you should tell me where the hell I am?" Frankie found her voice and used it to snap at the man, who simply smiled,

"Don't just stand there fucking grinning, where is this, where am I?"

"Frances-"

"Don't call me that,"

"OK then, Miss Foster, I really think you should come with me,"

"I'm not going anywhere with you, I don't know you, and you've literally just come from the inside of a cloud." He considered that for a moment, then shrugged and replied,

"Well Miss Foster, you can either come with me, or stay here, I think there may be a telephone about five thousand miles that way." There was something about the way he spoke, she recalled PC Dean Malkovich, his sneering and patronising tone, he would have said that sentence to put down and make someone feel small. However this man seemed different, there was something accessible about him, he spoke with a light hearted and appealing demeanour. Frankie had every right to feel lost, annoyed and violated. But against all odds, and even if she wasn't prepared to admit it to herself, she felt better for having this man with her.

"I can't promise you'll like what you'll hear, but if you come down with my lift with me, I will tell you everything. Or you can stay here and eat all the marshmallow you want." She looked him up and down sceptically, but she wasn't going to rot in the great cloud plains, so she nervously and reluctantly followed him to the lift. They moved through the now open cage and onto the platform the man had arrived on.

A funny feeling hit Frankie's stomach as they began to move down, she looked up and felt a twinge of fear as the bronze disc reformed above them, shutting her in blackness. Frankie felt the man put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture she immediately shook off. However just before the unrelenting inky blackness became unbearable, amber lights that lined the edge of the platform buzzed into life. Frankie looked around, and initially thought the walls of the chute to be bare, but that assumption was immediately discredited when a group of white lights came into view, and below them, more adorned the dull walls of the shaft. The lights spelled out words, revealing a mantra, immortalised in white light in the uncomfortable darkness.

_All good things,_

_Of this Earth,_

_Flow,_

_Into,_

_The Dreamscape._

Frankie looked at her companion, his old features and scruffy beard were magnified in the dull light.

"Who are you?" He simply grinned at her, and he put his hand on her shoulders once again. This time thought the redhead didn't shrug him off so readily,

"You can call me Mr Maravallo, and this… is my dreamscape." Frankie didn't know what he was gesturing to, that was until they left the shaft and light exploded into the redhead's vision. She immediately clamped her hands to her eyes, but when she was ready; Frankie took a peep through her fingers, and gasped.

* * *

Madame Foster hated this coffee, any hot drink made by a machine was going to be terrible, that fact was as established as gravity. She put a couple of dull coins in and got a tea, that being for Herriman. The rabbit had always insisted that tea should be taken in a proper china cup to be enjoyable, well he was getting a flimsy polystyrene one today. Madame Foster had been to this building many times in her life, and repulsive machine-made hot drinks were as fundamental a part of it as the very brickwork. She encountered her tuxedo-clad imaginary friend with his head in his hands. His top hat lay unnoticed and uncared about in the adjacent seat. Both creation and creator hated these damn seats, an uncomfortable mould of hard plastic. Men and women in pale green gowns hobbled past in varying states of ailment. Mr Herriman and Madame Foster sipped their respective drinks in relative silence, before the old woman finally asked,

"What did they say Herriman, will she ever get out, will she be normal again?" Herriman sighed, and got up. He moved over to a window, through it was a young woman in a bed; her face was an obscene mess of bruises. There was a thick wrap of bandages around her head, masking her fiery red hair, well what remained now. To get to her head wounds properly the surgeons had had to shave her, if it weren't for the dry-wipe marker inscriptions on the door to her room, no-one would have known who she was. There was a clear tube up her nose, keeping her full of precious oxygen, keeping her alive. There were bags hanging from a rack, each dispensing a vital liquid into her broken body. Blood, plasma, IV, anything to keep the former redhead's strained heart beating. A heart monitor beeped steadily, each tone representing systole and diastole, and showing she hadn't slipped away yet.

Madame Foster and Herriman weren't allowed in, just in case doctors needed to rush in. Herriman put a furred arm around his Madame, there was no need to answer her question, it was at best an attempt to stave of the silence, lest they actually have to consider what may happen if the young woman slipped away. The hospital buzzed and chirped around them, doctors chatted while strolling through the crowded corridors, however to the rabbit and his creator they had no bearing, no importance. They were ghosts flitting unevenly through a splintered and undeserved reality, no amount of noise or accidental jostling would increase their noticeability.

These precious few moments watching the steady rise and fall of the young woman's chest were crucial, because there was a real chance Frankie could die in there, and there was no way in this life or the next that Madame Foster and Mr Herriman wouldn't be as close as possible in the meantime. Maybe she wouldn't last the night, maybe she was brain-dead, maybe she was already gone and the old woman and her figment's psyches had just sent them into a blissful fantasy to compensate. None of this needed to be thought about, or even be considered. Because right now, they were there, and Frankie was alive, and in their own odd little way, they were all together, even if it could have been the very last time.


	2. Introduction

Foster's Fanfiction

Here's the second chapter, I know it's been a while but I've been more concentrating on some other fanfics. I'm working on one at the moment that is not for Foster's home, and it is about a character accidentally becoming a Mary-Sue. Let's hope it gets a warmer response than what I've been writing recently. At the moment I have too many ideas, and it's causing me to write sporadically and sometimes lacking in quality. I want to get one, really solid idea and work solely on that for a while, but given my recent writing that seems unlikely. Still at a complete loss with Mortal Coil at the moment unfortunately, everything I write just seems to end up as overly hasty shite. Not going to lie but I really am in a bit of a rough patch at the moment as far as writing goes. Here's hoping it gets better.

Review Responses

**Adenn666: **You really don't miss a trick do you? Quite a lot of what is being said will be relevant later, however that's not to say that I might not throw in some red herrings. The story will take place in two parts, out of the dreamscape and in, the story regarding activity in the real world is fairly straight forward with little to no secrets. However regarding the dreamscape things will be more secretive. I can't comment on your theories for risk of giving anything away. All I can say is, be weary of Mr Maravallo. And the Bioshock reference was correct, and so I dub you 'Adenn666, Rear Admiral of the Queen's Armada presiding over the Hostile waters of Australasia'. If that's not cool I don't know what is.

**Guest: **Sorry for the long wait, I hope it hasn't put you off. As far as Foster's Fanfiction goes with me I'm afraid there probably won't be much looking up, my first fanfic was supposed to be light hearted and ended up more sad than funny. But if you like depressing stories then you're in luck mate! Enjoy the chapter

Mr Maravallo's Marvellous Dreamscape - Chapter 2

The first thing that struck Frankie about the vast landscape or rather 'Dreamscape' was how organic it seemed. All of this seemed somehow feasible, despite its fantastical features. Gone were the marshmallow-like clouds from before. Everything was covered in a deep green grass; that seemed to sway despite there being no wind. The sky above was like that back home except it was a deeper and richer colour than Frankie had ever seen before.

Clouds moved unnaturally quickly across the ocean of blue; they rapidly clumped together forming magnificent shapes, before disappearing across the horizon. The sun was bright, but for some reason Frankie could stare into without being phased. It seemed to revolve with her sight, wherever she turned the vast, celestial ball of flame would move with her. Except she never saw it budge an inch, it was as if when she moved her gaze the star had gotten there before her.

There were mountains in the distance, and even from here Frankie could tell they too were covered in the same grass as everything else. The plains were covered in what looked like…lollypops. Large brightly coloured orbs on thin white stalks stuck out from the emerald fields. These vast areas of green were unnaturally structured, rather than rolling hills there were sharp mounds in edged, polygon like shapes.

Sheep with rainbow wool grazed, any of the grass that they devoured was immediately replaced. When they opened their mouths to call out Frankie was expecting a bog-standard 'BAAH'. However they made sounds like instruments, the sheer variety created a madman's orchestra. They roamed all over the peculiar hills; many of them stood quite happily on 90 degree inclines without tumbling. On a colossal archway in the distance she could even she many of the queer mammals standing upside down on it.

There was a river, its water moved at a ferocious speed, but despite this it made no noise, and the water looked perfectly calm. There was what looked like Technicolor Koi-carp gliding in the deceptively fast waters. Frequently they would jump out of the rapids and keep gliding into the air. On their journey they soared higher and higher before sprouting feathers and morphing into birds. These birds kept on climbing, until they reached their apex and exploded in a firework-esque display. After that their feathers would drift down, hit the water and become the vibrant fish once again. In the middle of this alien landscape was something familiar.

A scale replica of Foster's, however it was somehow more angular and more vibrant, and surprisingly it was what made Frankie gasp the most. It was somewhat disturbing to look at. Whenever she focused on a part of the mansion it looked completely normal, but when she tore her gaze away she could see out of the corner of her eye that something was different. When she didn't look at them, the part of Foster's looked more colourful and beautiful.

The whole property was surrounded by the normal black iron gates. However the metal actually seemed to dance in time with the symphony made by the rainbow sheep. The gates rattled around in a constant circle, making the whole structure look like a bizarre parody of 'Ring-a-roses'. What was most odd about the gates what that no matter how the iron bars moved, the doors seemed to remain in the same place.

There were no animals on the Foster's ground, and there were no lollipop trees, but there were some rather indecisive plants. The confused plant-life looked normal, until all at once they rotated in an emerald blur, and when they slowed the plants were completely different. Frankie observed as a cactus became a cherry tree, a rose-bush, a clump of Venus fly-traps and then a massive redwood. Frankie suddenly became aware her jaw was hanging open, and due to that a small bit of drool hung from her agape-mouth. She immediately closed it at the sound of Mr Maravallo's chuckling.

"What is this place, where am I, why am I here? You said you've give me answers so spill!" Frankie suddenly remembered the whole reason she had accompanied this strange man down a strange hole into a strange landscape.

"In due time, but I think it would be best if we were sitting down, maybe on more familiar territory?" before Frankie could even try to answer he had left the metallic platform. She had two choices, go with a stranger or try to last in the most bizarre location she had ever seen. Immediately Frankie rushed after Mr Maravallo, who led her over a bridge. As her trainer struck each piece of rickety wood, the sound of a someone singing a different note rang out. The Redhead couldn't help but let out a giggle. She found the relevant notes and then with some awkward footwork she conducted her own, off-time rendition of 'Wheels on the bus'.

"I thought you wanted answers?" she heard her companion's voice call her, and so she caught up to him. Mr Maravallo led her up to the worryingly stationary door of the dancing gates. He took a flute out of his inside pocket. It was completely too long to be covered by the whole jacket, let alone be concealed in one of its inside pockets, but that was way down on the scale of weirdness Frankie had experienced today. He played a tune and the gates creaked open.

Then without a second thought, he threw it over his shoulder, and before hitting the ground it exploded into a swarm of silver hummingbirds. Frankie had to resist the temptation to applaud as if she had just seen a spectacular magic trick. The redhead had the sneaking suspicion that such abilities were completely normal here. They made their way up the path to Foster's, an endeavour that took longer than it should with Frankie's constant gawking at the stupefying scenery.

He pushed the doors open, and at first the foyer looked completely normal. However all at once a menagerie of clockwork creatures materialised from all manner of hiding place. They were all ticking mock-ups of the housed residents, a jittery Mr Edmondson walked past followed by Sunset Junction. In the middle of the lobby was a stationary Fluffer Nutter, Mr Maravallo tutted before picking her up and winding the key in her back. After a few seconds she jumped into life, and leapt from the shabby man's hands to presumably go and find Jackie Khones.

Out of the blue, or out of Herriman's office to be more exact, stormed a jack-in-a-box on a spring. It bounced toward Frankie and Mr Maravallo before immediately sprouting two spindly, glove-clad arms. The contraption began to wind itself over and over again. Until finally Frankie heard a small jingle, and the 'jack' sprang out in a burst of confetti and tape-recorded fanfare.

Atop the large spring was a clockwork mock-up of Mr Herriman's head. Its eyes focused on Frankie, and then Mr Maravallo. It immediately spoke in a voice that sounded like a different person was saying each separate word.

"Good morning Mr Maravallo! I see you have a guest; if you care to adjourn to the sitting room I'll be sure to have refreshments 9 seconds ago."

"Why thank you my good friend!" the more normal of the two replied jovially, before the jack in the box began to bounce away. The contraption, with its otherworldly voice and mechanical movements, was downright creepy, and the redhead was glad that it had left. Sure enough when she made her way into the sitting room there were already to glasses there. However they were empty, but apparently this didn't matter to her shabby companion. He licked his lips and seized a glass and began to drink out of it. Clear liquid began to materialise within the container's confines as he took deeper and deeper gulps. Finally when he was done he set the now-full looking drink back where he got it. It immediately morphed into a glass model of a swan that swam on the surface of the table like a lake.

"So, you want answers do you?" Frankie was rather distracted by everything being completely wrong here, and so Mr Maravallo's voice came as something of a shock.

"What... oh, yes I do. I just woke up here, and then you come with your cloud-clipboards and weird hole and weird sheep and weird gates and weird plants and weird house and weird Herriman and weird drink. It's all very…weird." She expected him to chuckled, that was more or less all he'd been doing since she' met him. However he now just stared at her wistfully with a small, sad smile on his face.

"Frances, how have you felt since you got here?"

"What…just tell me-"

"Just answer the question Frances," she considered it for a moment.

"I've felt good…really good actually. I mean this is all really strange but it feels…sort of right. Is that normal?" the grey haired man sighed, and then replied.

"Yes, that is what we strive for,"

"What we strive…? Who's we, who are you?"

"Frances…this is always quite hard to explain. I'm your…caseworker would be a good term…yes let's go with that. I'm your caseworker, and it's my job to help you move on," suddenly Frankie felt a wave of nausea wash over her, that last bit didn't sound good.

"Frances, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, before you came here you were hit by a van. It broke your neck and spine. The paramedics were unable to revive you… it's my job to help you accept that and to…well you know. Pass on to the other side." She didn't reply, Frankie stared right through him and shivered slightly. She looked at her hands, which were now shaking quite violently.

Before, on top of all of the stress she had experience today, the news that she had now passed on just sort of…knocked her out. If she were awake, Mr Maravallo would most likely say that most people fainted, and she would have probably thought he was telling the truth. He got up and briskly walked to the tannoy system.

"Rabbit, send someone down here to take Frances to her room now!" he barked, and then swanned back to his charge after hearing a terrified and hasty reply of 'yes sir'. He stroked the unconscious girl's hair affectionately,

"Oh Frances, you're going to be very, very happy here."

* * *

"She's alive, but barely," the doctor was clad from head to toe in pale green scrubs. He even had a surgical mask on; his facelessness gave Herriman the creeps.

"What's wrong with her doctor, the truth, no sugar-coating?" asked the grey rabbit, still not sure as to whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

"We don't know the full extent yet sir, the van broke four of her ribs, the ulna and radius of her right arm and the shin of her right leg are completely shattered. Her skull was fractured, leading to some internal bleeding, that being why we had to operate to relieve pressure on the brain. Right now she is in a medically induced coma; it's her only hope to recuperate. If she were awake right now she would almost certainly not be able to cope and she would most likely die. We have performed a CAT and PET scan, and until we get the results back we don't know the full extent of the damage. Her brain was under immense pressure, there is a significant chance of her having brain damage. If there is indeed damage to the brain she may never be able to surface from the coma, and bringing her out forcefully with more medication would most likely kill her. If there is no damage to the brain we can take her off the meds and let her come round in her own time. I have seen people with a far worse prognosis come back completely fine, but to be honest it doesn't look good." Herriman processed the news before uneasily enquiring.

"Would it be best to say our goodbyes…just in case?" the physician sighed.

"It would probably be best." Herriman gave the man a nod, and was then left alone. He made his way back to Madame Foster who was nervously wringing her hands.

"What did they say Herriman? Is my granddaughter going to be OK," Herriman could have told her exactly what he had just heard, but there was no sense in making his creator cry anymore.

"It doesn't look good Madame, they don't know yet, but I think it may be best if we… call the house." The old woman nodded, she bit back her tears for the sake of her Frankie. At the end of the day Madame Foster would be fine, she would probably live another hundred years while the young redhead perished; she had no right to cry. For the umpteenth time they wordlessly looked through the observation window. Frankie looked so frail, as if a butterfly's wing beat could crack her like sugar glass.

"She probably won't get out of this Herriman," the words were hard to say, they were hard to even think about. Yet they needed to be out in the open, both parties needed to be prepared, and on the same page. When the others came it would be best if they could stand united, and explain just why the girl they all so loved was liable to expire.

"I know Madame…I know,"

The heart monitor in her room was the only thing letting them know Frankie was alive. Each beat gave them relief, and then it was worry again, frantic worry until the next tone let them know she was still in there… somewhere.

* * *

Please read, review and enjoy.


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